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Friday, April 30, 2010

I love you all, you know. I love getting up in the morning and reading what everyone is up to. I'm a crappy commenter often, I'll admit. Sometimes I can't think of a single thing to say. I'm not terribly clever 24/7. In fact, my clever is sort of like seizures and comes in flashes. Sometimes, and I'll be honest here, what you say on your blogs, dear friends, is so incredibly insightful and deep, I got nothing. I just stare at your page, then read it again. Then I give you a psychic pat on the shoulder and move on. I try to follow everyone who follows me, but sometimes I can't find you. Your little icon has no link back and I'm incredibly stupid at working this blogging thing.

One of my dearest blogging friends, Anne, gave me an award today. She's at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com/ Pardon the lack of linkage, but I'm fairly certain those that follow me have already found this most awesome woman so don't need a clicky anyway. She's given me the 'A is for Awesome Award' which is pretty alliterate. I give this to...

Sarah a.k.a. Falen at http://falenformulatesfiction.blogspot.com/She's an awesome and funny lady. She's also got a pretty funny and insightful dog.

Charity at http://charitywrites.blogspot.com/She's been with me from the beginning, when I started out at Bransford's forums what seems ages ago, and still she's with me. I appreciate you, chickadee.

Mel at http://caledonialass.blogspot.com/Again, I'll remind people I'm a sucky commenter, but Mel is not. She's always got something awesome to say to me, and she always makes me smile.

Shannon at http://shannonkodonnell.blogspot.com/As many, many people know, Shannon is the bomb. She's got a zillion followers, but still reads me and almost always comments to let me know her thoughts.

Last, but definitely not least, I give this to Tahereh at: http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/Her post today is here: http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/2010/04/probable-possibility.htmlIf you've not already read it, go read it now. NOW. I love that she is always so crazily upbeat and funny, but today's post made me cry. LITERALLY CRY MY EYES OUT (okay, not literally. They're still there), and I'll tell you why: She stole these words from my heart.

"i'd squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the heat in the back of my throat and clench my jaw and hold my breath and finally exhale as i read the email only to blink back the rejection burning through my body, shaming me, embarrassing me, diminishing me into silence.

it takes less than 10 seconds to realize you've been rejected."

I disagree. It takes me about 0.75 seconds. I see 'thank you' and I already know it's a rejection. I imagine a request for more pages to not start out with that platitude. I've never seen one, but I imagine it has my name and starts with something like "I've read this and wish to see more..." or "I'm happy to..." I don't know why, but I expect the letter to start with the agent speaking about themselves first and start with the word "I" or some variation.

"everyday you hear about people getting huge book deals, triple-book deals, massive book deals. everyday someone has a new story. someone is a break-out success. someone popped up out of nowhere and knew the right person at the right time and hit it big.

sometimes it hurts to hear.

not because you're jealous, besties. you're not jealous. you're just worried.

you wonder if there's enough room for you, too."

This was so accurate. I worry about this all the time. There's so many of us, dear friends. So many talented people out there and only so many openings. It truly is like trying to apply for your dream job and each query letter is your application. You send it out into the world and pray you meet whatever qualifications they are looking for. It's frustrating, yes, but heartbreaking. I want to be one of the people with a story. I want to be able to say, "If I did it, then you can, too."

But I can't. I'm still in the application stage. It's not about fame and fortune (it actually never was for me) but about accomplishing something I've set out to do. Even if I get published, I doubt anyone will know me or what I look like or where I live because being a writer isn't about being a celebrity. It's about being a storyteller. At least to me.

"maybe you think no one cares.maybe you think your loved-ones are humoring you.maybe you think they'll take you seriously if you land an agent.maybe you wonder if you'll ever publish a book.maybe you wonder if you're wasting your time?"

I appreciate Tahereh for writing this. I can see these words and feel the truth of them. I also know that I will continue to feel this way until I 'make it' because 'making it' is the only way to feel as though my hopes and dreams are not in vain. Every day I think about giving up. Every day I don't. Agent rejection is not personal. I know this. My logical brain knows this. My heart doesn't. My heart tells me they all think I'm an idiot hack who just wasted 2.4 minutes of their time.

Einstein is credited with saying that repetition of the same activity in which you expect a different result is a trait of lunacy. Are we just crazy then? Okay, yeah we are. We know this. We revel in it. So trudge on, fellow trudgers.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

So, I've been absent of late, I know. Over the weekend it was because I was busy with my WIP, in which I got a total of 6400 words added from Tuesday-Sunday. Monday after work through until about an hour ago, I was away from home. Had some more hospital business to take care of. Don't fret for me, I'm totally fine. Well, as fine as I have been lately. I took a laptop to try to keep up with everyone, but that didn't work out well. The stupid space bar was a demon sent from Hell to torture me. Plus there's something about hospitals that makes me tired. I slept a lot and watched The History Channel.

I've been fretting lately. I try not to let reality cloud my life, but sometimes I poke my head out of my internal goings on and look around. I'm not happy, friends. Not one bit. This blog was created for the purpose of meeting other writers, and so far I think I've blogged about writing and other writers. I don't discuss politics or the tragedies occuring around the world. I watch in horror with the rest of you, but keep my thoughts to myself.

Tonight, I'm going to say a few things that have nothing to do with writing. If you're reading this for pure entertainment value, I fear there's none to find tonight. This post will be about getting to know me. Not what I like or what I enjoy, but what I care about most, second to my family. My country, the United States of America, and to my eye there has been little 'United' about us for some time, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better.

To Nick's (and possibly Terry's) horror, I'm not 'into' politics. I'm not a Republican, Democrat, Independent, Libertarian, Montana Militite, Anarchist, Socialist, Communist, Fascist, or the like. Groups worry me. They always have. I understand the uses of government, and I've worked for a couple of them. I understand, and obey, the laws (speeding doesn't count. That's more of a guideline to me).

I am a patriot. If invaded, I would pick up arms and defend my country, my home, my family, my friends. I support our troops. My future son-in-law is in Iraq right now. I don't agree with the war, as a political tool. I agree with the war for what its purpose was to be: to find the bastards who killed so many Americans and tried to kill the rest of us through fear.

I remember September 11, 2001, don't you? Don't you remember where you were when you first heard the news? It was horrifying to think a plane could accidentally strike a Tower. Then the second plane struck, and we were a nation under attack. There was a mad scramble to find loved ones, to find other planes in the air. I was in St. Louis which was in an entirely different time zone, but military jets were in our skies for days, on patrol. Do you remember that feeling? It felt like everything would change, and it has. It has.

We have an Islamic president now. Not a single person would have thought that possible ten years ago, and certainly not after September 11th. I have no problem with his color or his faith. I have several friends who are of the same race and religion. I am only remarking on how strange it is that we, as a nation, as a group of people, joined together and looked past these things instead of condemn him. It is often in our nature to do that, to condemn those that are different than ourselves. I am happy, I truly am, that we did not do that. It shows great strides in our thinking, in our ability to rationalize on merit and strengths.

Here's what I do have a problem with: Healthcare Reform. Do we need it? Absolutely. Our system is broken. I know. I work for a health insurance company. Many people point there fingers at us and blame us for all that is going wrong with heathcare, but it's incredibly off the mark. I'm not a manager or higher-up. I have no influence whatsoever, and am not being a company loyalist. If you knew me at all, you'd know how I don't like big business. My dad calls me Flower Child half the time.

What I know is this: the average American cannot afford to be without coverage. Why? Because hospital and doctor claims are outrageously expensive. Often a patient goes untreated -turned away- if they don't have coverage. This is not the insurance companies' fault. Healthcare providers like to point their fingers at the big, bad insurance companies, but consider this: if they were less expensive, would we need insurance? They say they are expensive because of their malpractice insurance. This is NOT health insurance. This is an entirely separate issue covered by a different kind of insurance company. Doctors hike their rates to pay for their malpractice insurance rates, insurance that exists to compensate a patient when the doctor has made a medical mistake and endangered (or ended) their lives.

So, the healthcare providers make mistakes, which their insurance carrier pays for, then increases their rate to get some of it back, and the doctor turns around and charges the future patients. The bottom line is, you (and I) are paying for our healthcare providers' mistakes. That doesn't make them evil. Healthcare is a business. Shoplifting at Wal-Mart yields the same results. Customers pay for losses, not companies, not businesses. There IS something incredibly wrong with the healthcare system, I totally agree. But, like publishing, I defy anyone to find a better way to do it that doesn't cost hundreds of thousands of jobs.

Which leads me to my next soapbox moment. Unemployment. We're not recovered from the recession. We're barely holding our own. To dissolve insurance companies would put hundreds of thousands of people out of work. But it doesn't end there. $12 billion cut from our education system?? Seriously??? 100,000-300,000 teachers are getting pink-slipped in June. They've also put a dissolution of NASA into the works. There's tens of thousands more jobs in the toilet. So, healthcare, education, and space exploration (not to mentional all the techological advances we've NASA to thank, and so many more we'll never have). This one is also close to home to me. Robert Goddard was a great man, a rocket scientist, a pioneer, a relative.

Another couple of things to mull over: a bill has been sent for approval to give police the right to use lethal force during peaceful demonstrations if they feel they are in danger. They can fire into a crowd of unnarmed civilians if one trigger-happy nervous rookie so chooses. I love the police. I really do. Again, it's in the relations. But bad things happen when this sort of thing is allowed, and it goes against our Constitutional right to peacefully protest. Also in the works is for every American to have 'papers' in addition to a driver's license, to have a passport whether we want or need one or not.

Think about all of these things: socialized healthcare, dropped importance on education and research, increase on military, the loss of peaceful protesting, the mandate to have freedom of movement restricted without proper papers. I feel like the toad that sat in the pot too long to notice it has begun to boil.

If you made it all the way to the bottom, thank you for hearing me out. I'm a frustrated American. I'm not anyone special. My opinion is mine, and I love that I live in a country where I can share it without fear of persecution. I'm just afraid it's slipping away. There's something going incredibly wrong with our country. Can't you feel it? Are you afraid like me? Or are you clicking 'unfollow' now because you think I'm a whiny ignorant woman who is a Big Bad Insurance Tool? Can any of you make some sense out of it all, allay my fears?

Friday, April 23, 2010

Okay, I broke down and did it. I'm now a Twit. Or Tweetmeister. Twittliscious?

I don't get on so well with technology, so have been trying to figure this little program out. My first discovery? If I make lame comments to movie stars, people can see that on my page. Whoops. Re: the John Cusack remark about fame - I only half mean that. I don't want fame, just backstage passes.

But I've gone total fangirl and follow actors I've adored for years now. I know they'll probably never speak to me (and probably even have that block thing from fans bombarding them), but I get to do a shrill squeal on occasion like a twelve year old. Or younger. Possibly like a little boy who has been unexpectedly kicked in the nads. Yeah, that's the sound I make. I'm sure this new toy will lose its brilliance in a day or two.

Anyhoo, put a button on the right to click if anyone's interested. I've tried to go through pages and follow y'all but either I'm blind or just ignorant. I can't find the buttons half the time.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

I suppose I don't do this a lot, so I decided to talk about my quest for publication today. I've got loads of pretty numbers for you number people out there. I'm not one of them really. I've learned to dislike numbers in conjunction with my writing. This might change when there's dollar signs with the numbers someday. IF.

IF I find an agent.IF I get published.IF Anyone buys it.IF critics don't tear me down so much I need a rubber room. Well, more than I usually do.

In the meantime, my numbers are sad.

Queries sent: 62Queries rejected: 40Queries not replied to: 22Queries not replied to that are probably 'no's: 17Queries that got a partial request: 000.00Queries that got a full request: 000,000.07 (I'd like to think at least one THOUGHT about it, so that warrants part of a percent)

The last one is not a true stat. I'm sure it's much higher.In my defense, it's not often query related. It's just a nervous tick I have.

Number of times I wished I was Tiger Woods: 0Number of times I wished I was Tahereh: Infinity+7Number of pounds I've put on the last five months: let's not go there.Number of pounds I'd like to lose: 638. This includes a relative and a couple coworkers.

Okay, I think that's all the pertinent information for now. Have a fab Friday and weekend if I don't see you.

Monday, April 19, 2010

I wrote this one about a year ago, and it's surprising how little has changed. I sometimes feel like my whole life is stuck in a state of waiting, though I don't know what for. It all feels temporary. Where I live, where I work, what I like, my friendships... nothing lasts. At least with me. Do you ever feel like you're always waiting for that next big thing that's going to happen to you? Good or bad, you just know... you just know it's coming. Things have been 'even' for a while so something's bound to come along and dash it all up again. Granted, I've not been 'even' for years.

Okay, mindless rambling online done. I'll go do it on my PC now...

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The cursor that mocks me, the blank page that screams how hungry it is and needs to be filled, the thoughts that run ajumble in my mind and beg so much to be free… and the only clear thought is that I have nothing to say. So many sounds in my house that weren’t there before, so many voices and needs and exclamations of wanting from me… I ramble on and on about how I can’t ramble, and the irony does not escape me.

I have embraced with cold arms the sensation of a life on hold. I keep breathing, keep doing my job and sleeping when necessary; I’m not yet sedentary, though I’m sure I’m just three steps from catatonic most days.

Waiting is what I do in my spare time, because there is nothing I can do to move things forward. I wait for a call when home, a visit to my desk when at work, but still the news I await does not come; the news that my life has changed forever. I can think of nothing else, and the wait consumes me. I suck at waiting.

Ask anyone who has ever stood in line with me at the grocery store.

Do you ever feel like people are watching you? Not because of how you dress or what you’re buying, but because they are all just playing some part in some social experiment to test the limits of human emotional endurance.

I asked this old lady today if her job had good benefits and if the new socialism of medical health was going to affect her coverage, but she just stared at me blankly. I advised her that watching my every move had to be an incredibly tedious job since I even bore myself, and that if I were her I would invest in a chocolate company.

That’s really the best bet as far as I’m concerned. Women need chocolate once a month and I doubt our cycles are in sync, so I doubt the bottom is falling out of the cocoa peddling market any time soon. She said she was past menopause and never ate chocolate anymore. Her evasiveness of the issue only confirms that she is one of Them.

Are you, too? Do you read my words to analyze how close I am to cracking? Well, grab a stopwatch, pal, ‘cause the end of my rope is in sight and there's no damned knot to hold onto.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Or me, in this case. I tend to babble on and on about things when talking about different facets of my life, so I decided it'd best be served for time constraints on readers hopping around on blogs to do it in PICTURES! They're worth a thousand words, right? So, I'm posting several thousand words today.

In no particular order of importance:

Aside from Pink Floyd, these are two of my most favorite bands. What can I say? I like my men confused, and boy do they look it.

Then there's the infamous cat, Snape.

My living room:

My workspace:

Evidence of my ultimate fangirliness (this is Severus Snape, for those unaware):

To top it off, a horrifying truth about motherhood. P.S. The gobs of eye shadow are because it was Halloween.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

I Wordled my compiled works that I've been posting. I sorta love this thing.

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First off, there is an awesome contest here: http://sarahwithachance.blogspot.com/2010/04/something-fun-and-celebratory.html#comment-form

(links hate me on blogger. Don't know why)

Sarah Wylie is celebrating being published. Go celebrate with her! It's very exciting.

Secondly, I got two chapters done over the weekend, as planned, but some things came up that prevented me from being around so far this week. My apologies to anyone who fretted.

Thirdly, I keep typing things out in this Post box, then deleting them. I hate to publicly pour my inner toxic into the world and bring people down, so let me just say I'm not having a good week and might be scarce. Sightings of me on blogger will be almost as unpredictable and rare as Sasquatch until I get my head on straight(er). I'm lurking around on pages at odd intervals and sleeping more than I should.

Here's a bit of fiction in the meantime.

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‘They’ are out to get you. No one knows who they are, but They exist and They mean business. We don’t know where They take you when They find you, or why it’s so important to be afraid, but we feel it in our bones it must be bad. People are right to be paranoid, I think. Not me, so I’m not. I’ve got nothing to worry about, but the rest… oh, yes. They are definitely coming for you people.

I tried to quit smoking today, but I started my period. I’m sure They are to blame for that, but I am still trying to piece together how. Perhaps it is in the water. Whenever They are up to something, They usually start there then move on to hiring aliens when all else fails. Aliens are a last resort, of course. Those little fuckers charge an arm and a leg, and all because they have bright lights and tractor beams.

Well, so did James Tiberius Kirk, but his services were free. He just impregnated the locals. Small price to pay, really, although I wouldn’t want an alien to do the same to me. It would come out looking like a Sally Jesse Raphael and Andy Warhol love child. Which is weird since I’m not entirely sure Andy didn’t fake his own death to become Sally.

But I digress.

We were discussing ‘They’ and how they are out to get you. And your dog. They don’t want your cat for many of the obvious (and not so obvious) reasons, but mostly because the cats are in on it with them. You know it, don’t you? The way their eyes follow you when you move about the room… surveying you constantly and gathering data to be held against you in a court of jaw. No, that is not a typo. You’ll understand better when They’ve taken a bite out of your ass.

I think They are the masterminds behind global warming. They try to blame hairspray and industrial factories, but the truth is… Earth has a temperature knob. I’m sure of it, and I think it’s somewhere in the mountains of Chile. My friends laugh at me and tell me I’m paranoid, but I’m not the one They are after, so I’m really not. I’m just prepared.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Emily White is trying to start a book club at her blog at: http://steppingintofantasy.blogspot.com/

She's a sweet gal and fantasy lover, so has a sliver of my heart. She's having a contest that reads:

"Hmm...I was hoping for some more enthusiasm for the book club. I guess I may just have to add some extra incentive. All right, here goes. I understand that for writers such as ourselves, money is often tight and time is basically non-existent, so I'm prepared to hold a little contest. I will give you from today until next Wednesday (the 14th) to send over as many of your followers as possible to commit to reading The Secret Year and participating in the discussion. The person who has sent over the most people (at least 5) will win the book. I'll pay for it and have it shipped to you overnight. As far as time goes, well two weeks is a LONG time to read a book. I'm sure you can get it done in a few days. ;)

Have your followers respond in the comments section of the previous post (here) with your name. Again, they don't need to be followers of this blog to take part. They are certainly welcome to follow, but that is not a prerequisite. I'll announce the winner on Wednesday at 9:00pm (EST), so you have up until 8:00pm that day to get your followers over here."

Nicole at http://nicoleducleroir.blogspot.comgave me the Beautiful Blogger Award in which I say seven things about myself. This took an hour to think of. I think I've now covered everything slightly interesting about myself from this and previous awards.

1. At my job we are separated into teams with team shirts with our names of the front. My team chose to have camouflage -PINK (gag)- and I had the printer list my name as SPC Malfoy.

2. One of my daily chores is putting books back on their shelves. My cat, Snape, pulls books off my bottom shelf with his paws during the night. I've caught him in the act, yelled at him, and his response was to reach in with one paw and throw down another one. He doesn't want on the shelf. He just wants to throw my stuff on the floor. Sometimes I suspect he is the reincarnated soul of a disgruntled postal worker with their memories still in tact.

3. I have never voted. Not because I'm lazy (which I am) but because I've never been impressed by any candidate. I'm extremely cynical about the machinations of politics. I don't support any party. This goes back to my fear of people in groups I've mentioned before during an award meme.

4. About the only thing I drink anymore is sweet tea.

5. I've only had one year of a college education. I was on the Dean's List first semester then the President's List second semester (not for troublemaking I swear), but life got in the way and I had to drop out before second year.

6. When I was four, at Easter I found a dog. My mother said I could have it and should name it. I asked my aunt what she was drinking that made her act funny. She said, "Brandy." Thus, I had a samoyed named Brandy for twelve years.

7. I quote movies in an almost annoying (or maybe very annoying) way. I've a gift for remembering dialogue, and a great love of movies. Every room in my house has movie posters, except the bathrooms (humidity'd ruin them).

I'm taking a blogging hiatus for the weekend to try to get some work done on my WIP. Everyone have a great weekend!

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Unless you were looking for someone else. If that's the case, browse a second and see if I float your boat or not.

For those of you looking for Christi on purpose, here I am! As many of you read yesterday at Elana's blog, black blogs are harder to read. I had no idea. I work eight hours a day with four DOS based windows open, so I look at white on black all the time and have no problem. But I'd hate to think I'm making anyone's day harder, so I changed it for easier reading.

This is a quick post afore a run off for work, but I'd like to take a moment and thank everyone for the wonderful comments about yesterday's post. You all rock. That's all I can say.

Without further ado, a shortie called Winter Man:

The eyes that he wears are so open. He is as all are, it seems, but pretty words elude him. I know better than to trust him too much. It isn’t that he is deceptive or given to falsehood, but others have come before him and taught me well that life itself is an exercise is trickery. A clever dance we do as we evade the truth, or act as sleuths to uncover it. Why must we pick on truth? What has it ever done to us?

Or for us, for that matter.

He is the sound I hear when winter comes. No, the seasons stay the same for everyone else, but a single syllable from his mouth sends a blizzard through my veins, chilling me so completely that I swear I can see my exhale as a white puff in front of my face, billowing up into the heavens, where he says he will send me someday if I don’t start minding my mouth better. Should this honesty make me trust him more? He could just smile sweetly and tell me he loves me, but then the hammer to my skull would be such a shock.

I don’t like surprises.

I had a cat once that slept on my feet. It did not do it to keep my feet warm, but to prove to me that it could lay wherever it wanted to. He is much the same. I pet him sometimes and call him by my cat’s name, but he does not know why. He bites harder, though, and doesn’t fit as well in the gunny sack.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

As some of you know, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. For some reason, I have no qualms about commenting elsewhere about this, but I'm not able to talk myself into posting on my own blog about my experiences.

What I will do, however, is offer up some fiction. I'll warn you now, it might be a bit too much for some people, so if you're at all squeamish about the evil that lurks within a person's soul and what they are capable of, go read... um... Samuel Park http://dailypepforwriters.blogspot.com/

He's WAY more upbeat than this post is going to be.

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His smile was a wicked crevice from which his tongue flicked out reptilian fast to wet his bottom lip hungrily. I shrank away from him, terrified and confused. I thought he was joking. He hadn’t acted that way before he had downed half a case of beer, and being the god of wrestling he was, he barely staggered. His breath stank as he pulled me against him, but I kicked him hard in the crotch and ran.

It probably would have hurt him more if it hadn’t been shriveled up by steroids.

The darkness of the wood grew and slithered around me, the crickets sang their mournful song, the cars sped by on the highway far below, but all I could hear were his thoughts as he chased me through the brush. Limbs pulled at my hair, branches grabbed at my coat, rocks jumped up like hares to trip up my feet.

As if I didn’t already have enough obstacles with my pudgy body and asthma? Perhaps if I’d had an attack, it’d have been so damned unsexy he’d have lost interest. I’ll need to remember that for the next time I’m a helpless, daft bitch in a ‘B’ movie with bad dialogue and questionable special effects.

Wet grass was the only scent in the air as I ran away. Not for my life or because I was strong or brave, but just so he couldn't have me. Senseless and futile, as his body had been sculpted by years of push ups, weight lifting, and fad diets, but in the end all I had was panic. He tripped me harshly, and I fell to the ground, sprawled out like a dirt angel in second-hand clothes. I tasted the wet earth thrown into my mouth, mixed with the blood from my bitten tongue, and it was like a last meal before dying.

So, please, Daddy, when you pull him out of your trunk in the desert tonight, do me a favor: Shoot him in both his heads.

---------And what else? POETRY!

Quiet like a church mouse,one that knows it sinned,her bright eyes watch the shadow as it creeps closer to her bed.

The startled cry of surrender is muffled by a calloused hand as supple flesh gives way.

She knows she can’t wake anyone,can’t tell anyone. It would stop, then no one would be left to love her.

She feels dirty under the rhythm of the hot breath in her face, but she inhales her shame deeply, with a smile.

He doesn’t love anyone else this much, and no one loves her more than he does. He said so.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

So, I've not really been hoarding these... I've been procrastinating. I've been in 'writer mode' for a couple of weeks with my new WIP and can barely get to all my bloggity blog blog friends, and keeping in touch with everyone is my priority, so awards wait until the weekend now.

Without further ado: The Prolific Blogger Award given to me by Nicole Ducleroir at http://nicoleducleroir.blogspot.com/

I was pretty stoked to get this one. Everytime I'd see it go up at a friend's page and not get it, I'd stick out the ol' pouty lip and wibble a bit. The artist in me loves the acid green and purple and thought it'd look beautimous on my black blog :-)

With that in mind, I'm giving it to a new friend and black blogger, Roland at http://rolandyeomans.blogspot.com/

And Lisa at http://paranormalpointofview.blogspot.com/who also has a perdy black blog. Of course, there was more of a requirement than just having a black blog. Both of these people are pretty rockin' and you should go check them out.

Now we come to my new place for great fiction, Amy at http://shewritesherenow.blogspot.com/Seriously good stuff, folks. Go check her out.

Tahereh at http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/ gave me the Sunshine Award, which I already had, so I added her name on my sidebar. I also did this with Wendy from http://quillfeather-blog.blogspot.com/who gave me the 'From Me to You'and Anne at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com/who gave me the Honest Scrap Award.

Speaking of Anne, she ALSO gave me (because she loves me more than she loves any of you people) the Awesomesauce Award, which means that if I were to be put into a giant blender, the squishy and somewhat runny result would be Awesomesauce for your eating enjoyment. *DISCLAIMER - NOT YET LEGAL IN THE U.S.A.

Last, but certainly not least, Terry at http://awriterofwrongs.blogspot.com/has returned to me my Soulmate Award. It's come full circle, and I've watched it wither and die on people's pages and passed on incorrectly and linked incorrectly or not at all... and I giggled. I don't mind at all. I just wanted to give some people a smile (which I think the award did) and as a social experiment, I think it went all right. No, I'm not going to tell you the results.

And now that the award ceremony is coming to a close, I think we should end it with poetry again. Happy Easter y'all! And Ostara for you special, special ones! (which I know was a couple weeks ago, but I procrastinate as I mentioned)

Wrote this a while back:

I never wanted love to find meBut the predator it isTracked me down Knocked me downStole my breath awaySunk its teeth into my heartAnd continues to suck my soul dry

I do nothing to stop itMaybe even welcome this small death

This cancerous love is killing meIt steals my sleep My appetiteMy reasonBrings me nothing but painYou’ll be the death of meAnd I don’t careI think I should hate you a little bit

My strength is reserved for you aloneI give it out as freelyAs I do my heartI need neither without youFree will relinquished with a smileAnd a thousand tears

Friday, April 2, 2010

In Potterverse, I'm a Slytherin, hands down. I also used to RP more often than I drew breath, so I've got a zillion of these little beauties to thrust at you. In the meantime, I decided to partake of the First Page Blogfest, my very first participation in one. Mostly because it required no effort on my part. I already had this stuff written, after all. ;-)

My life did not begin until I experienced death, and the irony does not escape me.

Travis Makowski was my name before I died. Now I’m just Sam. No reason, really. I didn’t name myself after a movie star or my favorite pet from childhood. It’s a simple, average name, one that’s easy to remember. Sometimes I still turn my head when I hear someone say my old first name, but for the most part I remember my new name.

Not hatched from an egg or conjured from a cauldron, I had parents before I died. Like a lot of kids, I had more than two. I suppose they are out there still, continuing on as they always did; watching television, shopping at the local super store, trudging through the menial and unrewarding jobs they bitched about so much at dinner.

I never blamed them for not wanting more than they had. Sure, they wanted to win the lottery and retire, but they never tried to see past the next horizon. They were good people, but boring and small-minded, and I knew I’d never want to be like them. I wanted to get out of school and get the hell out of Iowa as soon as possible.

Wish granted, I guess.

I wanted more out of life than a crappy job, more than to just get by and have enough for beer and the occasional visit to the Shrine of the Next Pop Culture Movement, a.k.a. the Cineplex of Doom.

Okay, I added the ‘of Doom’ part. I just can’t shake the feeling those flashing neon lights are the eulogy for independent thought disguised as entertainment. Then again, most of my ideas have no bearing in reality.

Except my idea of death. I’m pretty sure I’m dead.

I was never sure if someone listened when I prayed. To avoid talking to myself like a crazy person, I usually avoided prayer, but gazed upwards on occasion and gave an apologetic smile just in case.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I'm fulfilling the requirements of the contest and blogging about it. So there.

Actually, it's a fun contest for those of you who can rhyme efficiently. I cannot. I wrote several pages of prose in two days. It took four days to write six stanzas. Crappy stanzas at that. I've written (maybe) less than five rhyming poems in the last fifteen years. I just don't do it. It feels forced from me. "OMG, something HAS to rhyme with evangelist!" Yeah, I don't roll that way.

Four in the Morning

About Me

Free-lance Editor, Book Trailer Designer, and YA author. My first book, "Four in the Morning," is published through Immortal Ink Publishing and available at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, and... other places :-)